


The King of Pranks

by Monstradamus



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Adventure, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstradamus/pseuds/Monstradamus
Summary: Rankle is the undisputed "King of Pranks" among the fey of Eldraine. But perhaps this time, Rankle has bit off more than he can chew.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 5





	The King of Pranks

**Author's Note:**

> _So, new story, and my first one to take place on the newly-introduced world of Eldraine, where fairy tales fight back. I won't say much here at the beginning because I don't want to give too much away. This story was written for the WA Mistaken Identity Challenge._
> 
> _Without further ado, let's begin. I own nothing of Magic: The Gathering, its characters, or its fantastic worldbuilding._

Rankle let out an exasperated sigh as he flopped down on his "throne." It was really just a rotted tree stump, but it was his, and that was all that mattered. For a while, he fiddled with a handful of arrowheads he had found in the Wilds, probably from an elven hunting party. They were not incredibly large, but in his child-sized hands, they were of a decent size, perfect for throwing. He amused himself by throwing them at a nearby tree like miniature daggers. Right about now, he wished he could be playing a game similar to this with the dwarves. It was one of the few things they liked doing after a few drinks, but they had since learned not to play with the likes of him. They had finally figured out how he cheated.

After a time, his little game was no longer fun. Indeed, the self-proclaimed "king of the fey," was quite bored. "There are no unwitting victims around," he said to himself.

It was true. Most of the fair folk knew to keep their distance from the impish fey. Charming and adorable they may seem, but their "pranks" were anything but good-natured. And it had been forever since those of the Realm had entered the Wilds. In short, the King of Pranks was growing restless.

Where were the humans? They always liked sticking their noses where they did not belong. They were always curious about the Wilds, so where were they?

Just when Rankle was about to take his chances ruining a witch's cottage, he heard a rustling followed by a branch snapping. He also could detect the familiar scent of a horse. He grinned wickedly. It could only mean one thing: a knight.

Rankle unfurled his little black wings and flew to the branches of a nearby tree. Sure enough, a knight rode through an old trail. Knights were always the best to prank. They held their foolish virtues so dear, and it was great fun to watch them become unraveled. He noted the keyhole coat of arms on his breastplate. So, he was a knight of Castle Vantress. They always thought they were so clever, always out seeking secrets for their precious mirror or unraveling tangled magic. True, the were not as fun to pick apart as those persnickety and persistent knights of Castle Locthwain, but this would do. After all, making a clever knight of Castle Vantress look the fool would be a delightful challenge.

He leaned back on his branch, fingers clasped, and he thought about just how to do it. These knights were indeed cleverer than most. They would not fall for the usual tricks. Plus, Rankle needed a challenge. It had been a while since he had proven his salt as the King of Pranks. He needed to craft something impressive. It would need to be something tempting, alluring even, for this knight. And knights did like impossible quests. A delightfully wicked idea was hatching. He flitted ahead to prepare.

Just as the knight neared a clearing, a voice called out. "Is anyone there? Please, help!"

The knight turned this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. It sounded muffled. He had barely heard it. Again the voice called out, this time from over to the right. "Please, won't someone help me? I've been trapped in here for days."

The knight dismounted and began to inspect the area. He saw no signs of a person nearby, or the so-called prison they were trapped in. It was only when the voice called out a third time that he realized its source. Just outside the clearing was a large, gnarled oak. The voice was coming from within the tree. It was clearly the voice of a woman, soft and terribly frightened. The knight approached, leaning close to assure his mind was not playing tricks on him. "Hello?" he called loudly.

The woman's voice answered. "Hello! Yes! You can hear me?"

He was more surprised he was not just hearing things. He paused, unsure what to say next. "Um, yes, I do. I have to say though, even in the Wilds, it's unusual to hear trees talk."

"Oh, but I have been trapped here, in this tree," she said. "I was lost, and that devilish creature, Rankle imprisoned me here."

The knight's brow crinkled. Indeed, many a knight had heard that name before. Not more than once, several knights had been tasked with undoing the tangled mess of that devious fey's magic.

Meanwhile, up in a nearby tree, Rankle snickered to himself. He rather liked the added touch of giving the knight a hint as to who was about to best him. The fey liked making sure their victims knew who had pranked them. This was more on the subtle end for Rankle, but he would get his chance to gloat in full later.

The knight answered. "Surely, there is a way to reverse this magic. Rest assured, miss, you are fortunate that I found you. As a knight of Castle Vantress, I know that every problem has a solution. We will find it."

A bit of a braggart this one was, Rankle thought. This one was just begging to get it. Pinching his throat, the fey answered the knight in his feminine voice. One of the reasons Rankle was the King of Pranks was his gift for voices. The other fey would hoot with laughter at how well he could mimic just about anyone.

"Thank you, kind syr!" he exclaimed. "Indeed, the few times that Rankle has come to taunt me, I believe he has revealed how I may get out of here, though he knows I would never be able to do so trapped in here. He says the tree will open when three things are brought to the tree: an amulet of gold and ruby from dwarven mines, the hair of the witch known as Yasha, and the fin of a mermaid."

The knight muttered the list to himself several times. "Yes, how foolish of the fey to reveal this secret, but he has every reason to be so confident in his plot. These items will not be easy to obtain. But, I shall try, for your sake. This magic is not as complicated as others. Very well, I shall first have to retrieve the amulet from the dwarves."

"Thank you," Rankle said, "but you must be careful. The dwarves hoard their finds in the mines. They will not give up such treasures easily."

"Ah, but that is what the knights of Castle Vantress do. We solve the unsolvable problems. I shall return with what you need to be free of the tree."

"Wait!" Rankle pleaded in his most appealing voice. "Should I not know the name of my savior?"

The knight shook his head. "I'm no savior yet, not until you have been broken from this prison. But know that it is Syr Cyrus Brask who will do everything in his power to save you."

"And you shall have the esteemed thanks of House Rollingford, for I am Lord Dorran's daughter, Alyce."

Rankle was tempted to throw in a "my hero" in there, but felt it was a little too much. He would play this poor fool as long as he could, but he needed it to be convincing.

"Very well, Lady Alyce. Worry not. I shall try to return here shortly with the items needed to break the spell."

Rankle was very eager to watch now. On the one hand, if Syr Cyrus succeeded, he would get the golden amulet from the dwarves he had once stolen. However, the dwarves, in their persistence to keep their precious treasures, had taken it back. Now, the joke would be on them. On the other hand, Rankle had set the knight out on some more than arduous tasks. The intention was not for him to come back alive. Thus, he would need to watch closely. For if he died on his quest, Rankle wanted to be there to get the last laugh.

The knight was clever though, Rankle had to give him that. Most of the knights of Castle Vantress were. Syr Cyrus tor a bit of cloth from his tunic and tied it to a branch of the tree to ensure he would find it again. And as Rankle followed him, he noticed he would stop and cut a small notch in a tree, marking his path back. The fey was tempted to do something to mess with that, but the plan was already pretty foolproof as it was.

Rankle followed close behind Syr Cyrus until he got to the mines, just at the base of the highest mountains in the Wilds. Here, he hung back for a distance. Humans were not always so aware of their surroundings to spot a fey hiding nearby, but a dwarf probably could. The last thing he needed was for them to know he was the mastermind behind this little scheme. Still, he made sure he was close enough to hear and to be there to gloat should the knight fail.

To his surprise, Syr Cyrus did not seem to employ much in the way of stealth. He merely had his horse trot up to the nearest mine entrance. The noise of the hooves over the hard ground certainly got the dwarves' attention. What was his game? Not even a brave, but foolish brute of Castle Embereth would do something like that.

Sure enough, not long after he approached, a troop of dwarves met him. They were clearly not going to let an outsider enter their mines. A stout dwarf with a dark beard took charge, speaking for the group. "People of the REalm are not welcome here," he said. "Turn around now, if ya know what's good fer ya." He punctuated that last statement by spitting right where the horse's hooves were.

"I'm on a bit of an errand, if you will, gentlemen," Syr Cyrus began.

The dwarves started in a fit of laughter. "Oh aye, one of yer quests, right? Tell us, Syr Knight, what be yer quest? After them rare secrets of the Wilds?"

The knight still remained composed. "I"m in search of an amulet of gold and ruby. I am told it belongs to you."

The lead dwarf winked to one of his friends. "Aye, we got plenty of those. I don't suppose it's this one yer after?" He pulled a gold chain with a ruby attached to it from within his shirt. "My pa crafted this one himself. I imagine whoever sent you on this fool's errand is after it."

"Indeed it is," he answered, clearly bluffing, Rankle knew. He had not told him what amulet he was after. But old Rulboc could not resist bragging about his family heirloom. So far, this was going according to plan.

"What will I need to do to obtain it from you?" he continued. "I assure you, my intention is only to borrow it."

"Ha!" Rulboc bellowed. "You must really be daft to think you'd be gettin' gold from a dwarf. Did they only knight ya yesterday?"

Syr Cyrus gave him a leery look. "I believe I could make it worth your while. I'm more than willing to offer a trade for it. Gentlemen, if we can reach a peaceful agreement, I'd like that, but I will use force if necessary."

Rulboc stood as tall as he could. "A trade, eh? Listen here. We have more riches here in these mines than ya could ever hope to amass back in the Realm. It's no wonder yer kind are always tryin' to get their hands on it. But there is nothin' ya have to offer. Dwarves don't trade unless we want to."

"Allow me but one moment of your time," Syr Cyrus said, pulling a sword out. It was not the one he would fight with, Rankle knew. It was not sheathed on the correct side. "I have for you this short sword, forged from Castle Ardenvale."

"Do ya see us using that unwieldy thing? Nah, we prefer our axes and knives."

"It's not for fighting. This was crafted from real silver, inlaid with only the most precious jewels. It is only given to knights who pass the trials at Castle Ardenvale."

This mildly piqued Rulboc's interest. He began to inspect the sword closely. "And how did ya come by this? They don't just hand these out over at Ardenvale."

Indeed many had tried to bargain with dwarves before, Rankle knew, but to no avail. They were shrewd and always found flaws, whether real or not, in the things offered for trades.

Only now did the knight seem like he was caught off guard. The dwarf had him. Still, he attempted an explanation. "It was my father's. He served Castle Ardenvale well. It was an award for his accomplishments. I have always had it with me for good luck. But given the circumstances I find myself in, I'm willing to part with it. An heirloom for an heirloom, eh?"

Rulboc's brow crinkled. A dwarf could spot a lie a mile away. The others in the group began reaching for their weapons. Well, no gold today, Rankle thought, but he would get to see a fine spectacle.

But then, something happened that did not make any sense. Rulboc lowered his arms and said, "Very well. I'll probably melt this down to make something actually useful, but I'll accept yer offer. Don't be gettin' any ideas that this be a regular occurrence."

The other dwarves settled, and Rulboc handed Syr Cyrus the amulet. Rankle could not understand it. How? How did that knight get them to accept a sword, which really was no more than junk? Even he could see that. Yet, he had managed to exchange it for dwarven-mined goods? It made no sense. No matter, he would get the knight with the next task.

* * *

Syr Cyrus returned to the tree with the amulet. Rankle, in his feminine voice, asked him to hang it on a high branch. Once he was not looking, Rankle would snatch it up.

"You say that the next task is to take the hair of a witch," Syr Cyrus began.

"But not just any witch," Rankle said. "It is the witch named Yasha. Rankle has mentioned him many times. He rather dislikes her."

This was true. Yasha was a salty, old witch who clearly could not take a good joke. She had scorched him well for his last little trick. If the knight succeeded this one, which was highly unlikely, then he would get the last laugh on her. What he would not have given to see that old prune as bald as a newborn. Still, she was crafty, and no one usually lived to leave her hut.

"Where might this Yasha be?" Syr Cyrus asked. "Have you heard Rankle talk about that?"

"Yes! He complains of her often," Rankle answered. "While you were away on your first task, the scoundrel came here fuming about her. I tried to get him angry enough to tell me where she lived. All I learned is that her hut is but a day's ride south. It should be shorter than your journey to the mines."

"Hm, a witch's hair," the knight muttered. "Rankle made sure to weave some powerful magic to bind you. Nonetheless, it is a puzzle worth solving. I shall return shortly, my lady."

"Hurry!" Rankle pleaded in his prettiest tones. "After having met you, my heart has been filled with hope at being freed. It has renewed my longing to be out of here. Until you, I had given up hope."

That seemed to encourage the knight even further. His face beamed, and his chest puffed out. Rankle had to stop himself from laughing too loudly. "Lady Alyce, you shall not be disappointed," he said. "I will not rest until you are released from your prison."

He was about as persistent as a knight of Castle Locthwain, just not as stupid. He at least went on quests he thought he could achieve, as misguided as his confidence in his abilities were, Rankle thought.

The fey again followed him as he rode through the forest. He was eager to see this encounter. Just what would the old hag turn him into? She was quite the mistress of torture when it came to the spells she put others under. Then again, he almost wanted to see her get a little taste of her own medicine...almost.

Yasha's hut was pretty much a shack. It was not meant to be found, not like other witches who delighted in finding humans to torture. No, Yasha preferred to be left alone, and only really let loose on someone if they disturbed her peace. If this knight thought he was going to have a chance of sneaking in, he was in for a rude surprise.

Still, the boldness of the knight knew no bounds. Again, the knight strode right up to the front door of the hut and knocked politely. What was going on here? He was just playing with fire at this point.

That same surprise seemed to be on the witch's face when she opened the door. Her glower was menacing and would have melted any man into a puddle right then and there. Rankle was too far away to hear the knight talk to her. He tried to creep closer to hear, but by the time he jumped into her dead shrub just outside the house, she had granted him admittance. That was not right, he thought. She would have turned him into a pile of rats right now, or writhing worms. She let him in?

Surely, she had something better planned. True, Yasha did not toy with her prey like others did, but perhaps she had decided to exact a special kind of revenge on the knight so stupid as to knock on her door.

Rankle crept up to the dilapidated window just on the other side of the hut. He was half-expecting to find the knight already roasting over a fire or having been turned into a cockroach for her to devour. Instead, he found the old witch laying in a chair, asleep with an empty cup in her hands. Clever of the knight to drug her, but that should not have been possible. Yasha would never have accepted a drink from him. What sort of game was this knight playing at?

He watched as Syr Cyrus proceeded to slice off chunks of hair with his sword, his deft hands leaving a clean shave. He left the witch completely bald. Again, another inconsistency, Rankle noted. A knight of the Realm would never have let a witch live if they could help it. It was their "sworn duty" to slay those considered "threats" to the Realm. But why had Syr Cyrus let her live? Rankle was now beginning to suspect something was amiss. No matter, though. He would finish him off with the next task. He would make sure of that.

Rankle, like most fey, was starting to grow bored with his prank. The fey were fickle in that way, and it was almost a guarantee one would see the fruits of their meddling sooner rather than later. So far, Rankle had pulled one over on the dwarves and the witch, all without lifting a finger. But fun and games were over. He had set this plan in motion to mess with the knight. Now he wanted results.

* * *

"The hair of the witch, Yasha," Syr Cyrus said, laying the hair on a branch. "The last item I am to retrieve is…"

"The fin of a mermaid," Rankle answered in his mimic voice, trying to conceal his boredom. "It will be no easy task, perhaps the hardest yet."

And it was supposed to be, impossible even. Mermaids were highly intelligent creatures, some even living at Castle Vantress, driving themselves mad studying the secrets of the mirror. They would not be so easily fooled as dwarves and witches. And, they were more inclined to drown humans on a mere whim. Rankle had chosen it as the last challenge if all else failed. The knight would suffer.

Syr Cyrus nodded his head gravely. "Yes… None of the merfolk would give up something like that willingly. But, I shall carry it out to complete your rescue. There are plenty of water sources to look for them."

"Hurry, we are so close," Rankle said, stifling a yawn.

He cut his conversation short with the knight. He was eager to get this over with. He wanted to watch the knight being dragged to a watery grave.

It did not take long for the knight to find a pond in a clearing. Merfolk were never hard to find. They were usually plentiful in numbers wherever there was water. Even Rankle had no clue how their intricate system of water tunnels connected these bodies of water. Still, where there was water, there was likely a mermaid somewhere.

Syr Cyrus approached the pond cautiously and tossed a small stone in, hoping to attract their attention. Sure enough, a head of dark hair and wide, glassy eyes peeked out from the surface. Mermaids played a very slow game of luring their prey. First, they were only curious to see what they were up against. If the person was of interest to them, they moved in slowly. Something about their otherworldly appearance practically hypnotized folks. Then, when they least expected it, a mermaid could dive back into the water, dragging a person by their feet so fast, no one would have known something had happened a few seconds before.

At this point, it was merely a waiting game. Whatever abilities this knight had would be no match for her. By now, the mermaid had risen up to her waist in the water. Syr Cyrus was preparing to make his move. With one hand reaching for his dagger, the other reached out toward her.

Rankle snickered. Oh, he was certain that the knight thought he was playing her, but the mermaid would be faster. Rankle hid in the bushes, no longer watching. The waiting was starting to get dull. He only needed to come out when he heard the inevitable splash when she would first drag him down. Meanwhile, Rankle was thinking of his gloating speech he would use while the knight struggled. Like reeling in a fish, Merfolk toyed with their catches.

Within a minute, he heard the splash. Grinning ear to ear, Rankle jumped from out of his hiding place. "Remember, brave knight," he announced. "With your last dying breath, may you curse the name of Rankle, King of Pranks!"

But something was not right. Rankle looked around. There was not a soul in the area. The water was rippling where the mermaid had swam away, but no sign of the knight. No struggling for air. No shouts. Now a sense of uneasiness fell upon the fey.

Before he could make a move, Rankle was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air by two meaty hands. He struggled, but could not slip out of the iron grip. He could barely manage to turn his head up to see the face of his assailant. The enormous man was hairy from head to toe, his thick beard covering a stern and unmoving face. But that was all he could see. The rest of the head was covered with a metal helmet, decorated with the tusks of wild beasts. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him.

"Do you like my Dog?" a voice said.

Rankle turned back to look at the mysterious figure before him. He, at first, appeared to be an elf. He was about the right height and had the ears, but elves usually traveled in hunting bands, and not with humans like the hairy man holding him. The figure was decked in simple leathers and a crown of thorns. His face was blue, right around his eyes, giving him the appearance that he was wearing a mask.

The figure strode up to Rankle and patted the hairy man's arm. "Yes, strong and a bit dim, but my Dog here has his uses. He's certainly an obedient Dog."

"Who are you?" Rankle spat, still trying to struggle.

"Hm? Why you don't recognize me? Then again, I suppose you're used to seeing another face."

Rankle flinched as the figure's face transformed into one more familiar: Syr Cyrus. "You're a shapeshifter!" he said

"Indeed," the figure said, transforming back. "You may call me Oko." He chuckled, and let his conversation drift. "I just can't believe that when I first got on the trail of a fey, I was going to get the Rankle, King of Pranks." He picked up a twig and began twirling it as he paced. "I mean, I really can't stand titles of authority. They just prickle under my skin. But you use it ironically. I like that. And I just can't get over how damn cute you fey are. I just love the child-like faces and the wings. I mean, I might just use that as a disguise sometime. You're just so small and adorable, who wouldn't be tempted to trust you?"

"Ahem…"

"Right, right. I've been told I talk too much. It's just so fascinating to meet other fey on other worlds. Oops, I said too much. Forget that last part."

"Wait...you're a fey?"

He waved off the question. "In the same family, of sorts. Anyway, you've gotten me distracted now. Back on point."

Rankle was still hoping for an opening to get out. He just had to keep this Oko fellow talking. "But wait! If you were the knight. How did you get past my first two tasks?"

He nodded over to his… Dog. "Much like what I did to him. I'm very gifted with a mesmer spell. I don't like using it. I've been on the receiving end, and it is not pretty. But, it gets the job done. Can you believe this big behemoth was actually hunting me before I took control? Ah, but I pity him a little. It's horrible being mesmerized. You're really still in there, but you can't control a thing."

"And at what point did you know it was me?"

Oko smiled fondly. "Actually, I wasn't sure until you're little trick voice mentioned the tasks. Obtaining the fin of a mermaid was so impossible, I knew it had to be the work of a fey. But, to be fair, I was looking for one specifically. So, I've been following whatever suspicious leads I could."

All the while, Rankle had been trying to wriggle out of the Dog's grip. He was close, but then his grip tightened once more. Oko bent down to his eye level. "Back to business. I need your special skill set. You see, I need the redcaps to ambush a couple of people during the king's procession in a couple of days. Now, I know they're not the type to attack unless they know numbers are on their side. So, a procession is a bit big for them to want to fool with. But, if given the right push… say a false tip… or some sort of prank…"

"And just why would I help you? In case you haven't caught on, we work alone. And considering that you've royally pissed me off…"

Oko grinned. It was more unsettling than his usual smile. It was like looking at someone who had no concern for life and death. It was a fey's smile.

"Aw, someone's still sore that I got the best of them. Well, to put it simply, you really have no choice. You see, you're in the hands of a man who could crush you in less than a second. I'm pretty sure that would leave a bit of a mess."

Rankle glowered back, not even responding.

"I love when we can reach an agreement. So, I don't care how you do it. You just make sure they're where they need to be. And don't look so upset. Besides, you won't be mad for long. It'll be like we never met.

Oko winked.

* * *

Rankle awoke in the middle of the forest, right by a pond. His head ached like he had overslept. What was he doing here? Why was he not back at his hideout? Now that he thought about it, what had he been doing before? He looked around, his vision still a little bleary. That must have been some party he had with the dwarves the other night, or was it last night?

Whatever the cause, Rankle had learned a juicy tip from the dwarves. He knew he needed to head back to his hideout. He really needed to plan for his next scheme. The King of Pranks was going to ruin the king's procession soon, and he had a pretty good feeling this little scheme would involve the redcaps…

**Author's Note:**

> _So, I hope you enjoyed this little double-dip of mistaken identity. After doing my research on the world of Eldraine, I just couldn't resist not using characters like Rankle and Oko, both of which seem to have some basis in Shakespeare's Puck from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." They were the perfect pair to pull this kind of story off._


End file.
